


Flashing Lights of Devotion

by slothy_girl



Series: Sway with Me (Hold Me Close) [5]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: 5 Times, Ambiguous Relationships, Character Study, Connections, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Implied Relationships, Introspection, Magic, Multi, POV Outsider, Post-Kingdom Hearts III, Re:Mind Compliant, Reincarnation, Sort of...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:21:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23861494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slothy_girl/pseuds/slothy_girl
Summary: “I’m telling you, Axel, it was the weirdest fucking thing,” Roxas says for the second time that week, apropos nothing, hand gesticulating around. “Something’s going on with them. There’s something… different about them.”And I’m scared, he doesn’t say. But Lea hears it all the same.Or, 5 times someone noticed something was off about Sora and Riku, and 1 time someone just didn’t give a fuck.
Relationships: Riku/Sora (Kingdom Hearts)
Series: Sway with Me (Hold Me Close) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643101
Comments: 31
Kudos: 144





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is decidedly NOT the one I’d been talking about in the end note in Part 4. But I’m such a slut for outsider pov, so here we are. I also felt kind of bad about not ever really having anyone else in my fic haha Although, I will say, I had such a hard time deciding the order agh. 
> 
> Beta read by myself many, many times, so at least twice lol
> 
> Title from the song I’ve now listened to 95 times, “Sway With Me” by Saweetie and GALXARA.
> 
> Dedicated to Fireborn. I stalk your twitter regularly for that sweet, sweet SoRiku content and saw all the wonderful things you said about my fics. Thank you, lovely dearheart. I promise to take good care of your life <333

-

“Why do you go away? So that you can come back. So that you can see the place you came from with new eyes and extra colors. And the people there see you differently, too. Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving.” –Terry Pratchett, _A Hat Full of Sky_

-

**|Flashing Lights of Devotion|**

5\. Yuffie

She’s not sure if it’s just her, or maybe it’s just that she doesn’t know Riku very well—he’s a friend, sure, but a Riku without Sora, Yuffie’s learned, is a lot more reserved and sad than the one that’s all soft smiles and affectionate sighs she’s been getting to know now that Sora is back—but she’s starting to think there’s something undeniably… off about him since he and Fairy Godmother communed with the Dream Gods. What with the way he destroyed their guest bedroom and dipped off into some secret void for over two months. Threw everyone for a loop, that. Good thing he came back, a sheepish Sora in tow, when he did. She’s pretty sure everyone was about ready to give up or commit something desperately insane in the name of getting them back.

Depressing, really.

She’s glad it never came to that.

“He’s probably just dealing with everything that’s changed,” Leon says, swiping idly through a Heartless. Yuffie glares jealously at the flex and ripple of his biceps as he cuts down another enemy, the muscles straining tight against the cut of his jacket sleeve, how easily he wields his gunblade. It’s got nothing on the bulk and size of Cloud’s not-even-over-compensating Buster Sword—

(What? They’ve all known each other forever, been through everything—the destruction of their world, slumming it in Traverse Town, their world’s rebirth and subsequent restoration and more—together, living in the nooks and crannies of the others’ lives for as long as Yuffie can remember.

Cloud and Tifa may not have been around for all of it, but they were around for enough.

It counts.

She’s surprised she hasn’t caught him with his pants down _more often_ considering the way he and Leon make eyes at each other whenever they’re in the same room. Shit, who do they think they’re even kidding? You don’t see _her_ blatantly eye fucking Tifa and her ridiculous muscles or Aerith and her pretty hair every second she gets. She’s got way more subtly than that—she’s a Godsdamned ninja, after all… anyways.

Now, Cid on the other hand, she wishes she’s seen less of. A lot less.

All she’s saying is she’s seen some things that can’t be unseen and she _regrets_.)

—but still.

She prods sadly at her own arm. She lifts weights, does a ton of strength training, has sat through all sorts of lectures and advice from their resident muscle heads, but no matter what she does, no matter how many reps she pushes through, she still can’t get the kind of density she wants.

It’s a terrible curse, really.

“Yuffie?” Leon raises a single perfect eyebrow. Damn him. He’s lucky she’s so confident in herself or she’d be at risk of developing a complex.

“Yeah?”

He shakes his head, a mixture of fondness and exasperation she’d recognize anywhere. Blindfolded, even. “Were you even listening to a word I said?” he asks.

It’s a redundant question, but she tests her fingers against a point on her giant shuriken and answers anyways, “Nope. You lost me.” Hey, at least she’s honest? “So what if a lot has changed? Sora hasn’t changed _at all_ , and he was gone way longer.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

She pauses, gnaws on that little nugget. And yeah, okay. Maybe he _has_ changed, but it’s definitely not in the same way as Riku. “Yeah, okay.”

“It’s not like we know what all they went through,” Leon continues. “Neither of them are all that forthcoming about what happened. We should trust their judgement. If we need to know something, they’ll let us know.”

Yuffie’s mouth twists, memories of Sora’s forced smiles and Riku’s increasingly slumped shoulders flashing through her mind on a reel. She’s not so sure how much they _should_ trust their judgement though. Those two idiots are equally as bad at hiding when they’re hurting, but hell if they’ll say anything about it. “I guess.” A hand lands heavy and comforting on her shoulder. She leans into it.

“It’s okay to be worried about them.”

“I know.”

He looks at her a bit longer, long enough that she starts getting a little antsy, like there are ants crawling around underneath her skin. A beat, and he finally lets go and sheaths his blade. “Let’s head back.”

“Yeah.”

“Yuffie!” Sora shouts happily the second they step into the main room of their house. He nearly trips over where Cid is huddled in front of the computer muttering to himself, and jumps straight into Yuffie’s arms in a hug she gleefully returns with an equally loud, “Sora!” They grin at each other for a whole minute—and holy crap, it’s still so weird to be looking _up_ at the boy (wait, no, not a boy anymore, is he? It’s only been a few years, but he’s grown so much, damn) for all that he hasn’t gotten much taller since the last time they saw each other—before her mouth twists mischievously.

“Aha!” She gets a good grip and squeezes him as hard she can, lifting him off his feet. “Is that all you got, Keyblade Master?” She taunts and nearly squeaks when Sora laughs and returns the favor, her ribs literally _creaking_ under the force of it. For a second, she’s almost worried they might _break_. _Holy shit._

“I give—I give,” she gasps out, stumbling out of his grip. “What the fuck, Sora?” She grasps at her aching sides, shooting Sora a carefully constructed look of playful disgust. “When the hell did you get so damn strong?” Inside, she’s a lot less put together. Because, actually, that’s a _really_ fucking good question if you ask her. Maybe Sora has changed more than she thought. The last time they did this was before he left to defeat Xehanort, their tried and true, unspoken test of strength, and there’s _no way_ he came back from wherever with the power to snap her clean in half. And she knows he could now. Can tell he was _holding back_. Knows, suddenly and with what could only be described as awed panic, he could probably snap _Leon_ in half if he wanted.

And that, that’s just _unnatural_.

What the fuck?

“Sorry, sorry.” Sora laughs again, sheepishly palming the back of his head in a motion so familiar, it’s like looking back in time, terrible fashion choices and all (and yes, that includes hers too, agh, _she knows_ ). It’s a move that also, likely without Sora’s knowledge, puts those very new—definitely, absolutely did _not_ have a year ago—muscles into stark, bulging contrast.

“You _have_ gotten stronger,” Leon says, and if she didn’t know better, she’d almost say he sounds suspicious. She _does_ know better, but he still sounds like he’s puzzling something out. She shares a look with him behind Sora’s back while the brunette chatters distractedly about Riku this and Riku that, wiggling her eyebrows pointedly.

“Whose gotten stronger?” Cloud asks as he descends down the stairs. He’s barefoot and armorless, the most dressed down she’s ever seen him outside of wardrobe malfunctions during battle and the before-mentioned, accidental glimpses she’s gotten from living practically on top of him and Leon over the past couple years since Cloud returned to them for good.

(It’s not _her_ fault she likes to take the alleys through town instead of the main streets. You’d think they’d have learned by now. Shesh.)

“Sora,” she says and jabs a finger in his direction.

“Not _that_ much stronger,” Sora says, waving his hands around. “If anyone’s strong, it’s Riku.” The way he says it is the way one would state a fact. The stars are worlds. Heartless will always try to devour your heart given the chance. Gravity is a thing, for the most part, and Riku is strong.

Man, to have such confidence in someone.

It’d be beautiful if it didn’t also make Yuffie want to gag a little from all the sap.

Cloud hums, but he looks decidedly more interested than he had been two seconds ago. “So are you saying you wouldn’t be up for a little rematch? We never did get to spar again.”

Since the Colosseum, he doesn’t say, but she can tell literally everyone in the room is thinking it. Even Cid has paused mid-grumble.

The atmosphere is starting to feel a little heavier, a little too somber, memories and regrets and guilt all crowding in, so before anyone can get too caught up in it, Yuffie flails around until she’s gotten everyone’s attention and says, “We should totally hold our own Tournament!” At Cid’s disbelieving look, she continues, eyes wide and pleading at Leon, only a little bit exaggerated because holy shit, this would actually be really awesome. “Tifa and Aerith could join, and all those Keyblade wielders Sora’s got lying around. And we could host it in the Great Maw!”

Leon blinks at her for a moment before smirking, clearly in on what she’s about. Good, because there’s no way in hell _she’s_ gonna be the one to plan this. “That would definitely give us plenty of space.”

“Sounds like fun,” Cloud says, gaze caught with Leon’s in what can either be competitive rivalry or sexual tension, or both she guesses, considering how they are, but it’s basically all the permission they need. It’s always nice when the “parents” agree.

“Yes!” She and Sora exclaim together, sharing another grin and a high five.

“I’ve gotta go tell Riku!” Sora says and sprints out of the house. Nevermind the fact she _knows_ he has a Gummiphone—the door slams in his wake before falling straight off its hinges with a loud, obnoxious clatter. Sora is nowhere to be seen beyond it.

Like he’d just disappeared into thin air…

Yuffie stares for a beat, mouth gaping, hand stinging red, before catching the startled looks on everyone else’s faces.

It’s Cid that breaks the silence. “Seems he gets stranger every time we see him.”

“Cid!”

“What? It’s true! Him and Riku both,” he grumbles and turns back to the computer.

“Well,” Yuffie sets her fists on her hips, “I think it’s cool, even if it _is_ weird.”

Leon hums, shooting a side-eyed look at her. “Now, about planning this Tournament…?”

“Oh, shit—I just remembered! There are Heartless in the Bailey to take care of!” Yuffie shouts and throws down one of her smoke pellets. Gets the hell out of there to the sounds of exasperated sighs.

 _Please_ , like they didn’t already know exactly how this was gonna be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was probably the hardest chapter for me to write. I hope it came out okay!

4\. Aqua

When she and Terra emerge from the portal, the gross ooze of the Dark World melting away to the familiar scape of the Land of Departure’s Audience Chamber, Aqua can’t say she expected to find Riku and Demyx there. Ven, sure. Maybe Vanitas, playing Ven’s shadow and hovering nearby with a sneer and scathing remark she’s had a year to learn how to ignore (not that it always _works_ , but he’s definitely gotten easier to deal with. The fact that the two of them spar regularly probably helps too—and maybe, just maybe, he’s softened a bit). But not them.

Not _just_ them, anyways.

Either way, it’s clear they’re interrupting _something,_ and it’s not anything good if the awkward stiffness in Riku’s shoulders is anything to go off of. Demyx is relaxed, all loose limbs and relaxed slouch, but she knows better than to trust surface appearances.

What you see isn’t always the truth.

(It was a hard lesson to learn, but it’s one she’s learned well.)

She hesitates on the stairs for split second before quickly pulling herself together, a plan already formulating in her mind, and deactivates her armor with a tentative smile. “Riku. Demyx. We weren’t expecting you.” She sends a covert, pointed look at Terra after his armor’s receded. The only indication he even saw it is the glance from the corner of his eye, quick as blinking, but she knows him, knows he’s read her loud and clear. He’s always had a soft spot for Riku, of course he’ll help.

She knows the feeling.

He’s so easy to care about. Him and Sora both, really.

“Riku, it’s good to see you,” Terra says cheerfully and clasps Riku’s arm firmly in greeting. To Demyx, he offers a perfunctory nod, though he barely even gets a response before his attention is back on Riku, soft and gentle and perfectly sincere.

Riku’s shoulders unwind just the littlest bit as he grips Terra’s arm back. “It’s nice to see you too.” A beat, and his eyebrows furrow together when Terra doesn’t move to pull away, but he doesn’t let go either.

Seeing her opening, Aqua presses in close on his other side and squeezes his free arm, tries to look as happy and warm as she possibly can because she _is_ happy to see him, always. She opens her mouth—and is not at all surprised when Demyx groans and backs away, nose wrinkled.

“This is all very touching, but I’ve got better things to do than partake in this lovefest.” He smirks and flashes a two finger salute. “Later, losers.” A dark corridor opens, and with another wave, he’s gone.

Riku sighs. Goosebumps break out across her skin as the temperature in the room noticeably warms into something easy and comfortable. Magic tingles and tickles along her skin, delicate as gossamer silk and spiders’ web, fading on a breath.

“Wow.” She raises her eyebrows.

“Thanks,” he says, cheeks flushed pink, but looking a little lighter somehow.

Aqua sways back slightly to give him some room, but not too far, and looks him over critically. Takes in the healthy flush to his cheeks, the resolute straightness of his spine.

The only thing maybe off about him is the healing ring of mouth prints on his neck edging down into his collar, stains like crushed blueberries smearing across his skin. She settles for shaking her head. Shameless, but not unexpected.

They’ve had a month to get used to it by now.

(That’s right. It’s only been a month since Riku and Sora had returned, and it’s like that year never happened.

They’d all been worried for Riku’s health, then—the reckless way he’d throw himself into battle, skin pale and broken with half-Cured wounds. The sleeplessness. The lost look he’d get in his eyes. The agitated frustration that would sometimes color their interactions—not that she could blame him. She could remember a time when she would have stopped at nothing to save those who were most precious to her, even at the expense of her own life. It would have been worth it, _was_ worth it. But where she’d had only herself to rely on, he had _them_.

He wasn’t alone.

And she’d desperately wished that he might let them help bear the burden that sat heavy and crushing upon his shoulders. Sora was important to them too, and surely he could at least use a shoulder to lean on, a friendly ear to work through some of those darker thoughts, or even just someone to be there, even if just in silence. But he didn’t, not really. He threw himself whole-heartedly into finding Sora, hyper-focused and determined. Every second not spent sleeping or keeping world orders were spent following leads, no matter how small or unusual or unlikely. And though he let them help in the actual search itself, he kept some distance from them, awkward and hesitant in the face of their concern.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve had to look for him,” he’d said, once, in the dim quiet of the library, half-hunched over a book. “Let’s just focus on getting him back.”

“But Riku,” she said, heart an aching, leaden weight in her chest, “you’re important too, you know.”

He laughed, but it was a brittle sound, hollow and empty. It was a sound that still haunts her some nights when she can’t get her mind to slow down, thoughts spinning round and round with _what ifs_ and _maybes_ and _I could have done mores_. “Sure, of course.” But Sora is more, he didn’t say. Didn’t _have_ to say, but everything in him said it was the truth. His truth.

 _More what?_ She sometimes wondered. But then she thinks of Terra, of Ven and Master Eraqus, and she thinks maybe she understands all too well.)

“Is everything… okay?” She knows Demyx was originally on Master Xehnort’s side, that he had chosen his side twice and then betrayed him in the end, that he’s still… off, with his yellow eyes and knowing looks and disturbingly carefree persona, but he hasn’t really done anything. Not really. Not yet.

She would know. She’s been keeping tabs on him.

(She’ll never forget how he stopped mid-sentence, grin going rictus before his expression collapsed into something sad and angry and undeniably ecstatic, eyes manic bright, mumbling to himself cryptically, “And thus, the heart and blade have returned.”

“What?” she asked, confused and more than a little alarmed.

He laughed and it was only a little bit unhinged, a little bit unsettling. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”)

(It’s can’t be a coincidence that Vanitas found Sora and Riku only hours later. The only other time she’s tried to broach the subject with Demyx, he’d rolled his eyes and segued the conversation into about how she needed to work harder on her water magic.

But she knows.

She _knows_ , even if she doesn’t _know_ how everything connects.)

“Yeah,” he huffs. “We just have… history.”

“History? Organization XIII history?”

“Sort of.” Riku’s eyes narrow down, frown deepening before he shakes his head and visibly shrugs it off. “It doesn’t matter.” It clearly does. It must mean _a lot_ for him to act this way, all noble and self-sacrificing (no wonder Terra took such a shine to him). They’re not his confidants the way Mickey is, but even Mickey only gets told so much. She’d thought, probably rather childishly, that Sora coming back would have changed things, that maybe Riku would let himself rely on them more for things outside of combat. But he moves swiftly on from the subject before she can do anything. (Not that she’s surprised. They’re his friends. But there is only _one_ person she knows of that Riku would allow himself to be completely vulnerable around, and they’re not him.) “How was the Dark World?”

“Dark,” Terra jokes, though it’s obvious he does it more to get a reaction out of Riku than anything. Riku rolls his eyes, but the corners of his mouth are twitching, clearly used to such terrible taste in humor. He’s known Sora his entire life, so no surprise there.

“Normal,” Aqua says. And it had been. Ever since Riku and Sora came back, whatever was going on with the Dark World before—before Riku disappeared, before he and Sora reappeared in Scala Ad Caelum,0 one of the last places they’d ever expected to find them—seems to have righted itself.

For now, anyways.

(That’s another puzzle she thinks about, turning it over and over and over in her head. Wonders if it’s connected to _them_ , or if there’s something much more sinister afoot.

Life as a Keyblade Master is never quiet, that’s for sure. It’s something she’s learned to accept, for all that it’s completely different than what Master Eraqus had told her when she was a little girl, just starting her Keyblade training. Between Master Xehanort and her time in the Dark World, she knows he had no way of knowing.

She doesn’t blame him.)

(At least, she tries not to.)

“Good.” Riku nods. “Oh, I came here to tell you both something.”

She glances up at Terra, who shrugs.

Riku’s mouth twists like he’s trying not to smile, expression folded into barely contained seriousness. “There’s going to be a Tournament, and you’re formally invited to join, if you want to.”

“A Tournament?”

“Like the ones at the Coliseum?”

“Exactly, except this one is being hosted by the Restoration Committee in Radiant Gardens.”

“Huh.” Terra’s mouth thins, pensive. She brushes his shoulder with her own, sure-footed at least in this, in him, and his expression clears. He leans into her, skin warm and lovely where it touches hers. “Count me in.”

“Yeah, sounds like fun.”

“You know, I wonder whose idea this was…” Terra trails off, eyes crinkled into half-moons.

Riku’s grin is blinding, makes him look younger and lighter and so very soft. If she had any doubts as to who Terra was referring to, that smile would make it obvious. It makes her feel lighter too. She hadn’t even noticed how tense she was until it all just melted away. But he shakes his head. “Nah, Sora _wishes_ he thought of this.”

“I’m sure he does.” Aqua makes a point to look around before she says, gently teasing, “Where is he anyways? I feel like I hardly ever see you without him these days.” It’s not exactly a true statement. She can count on one hand the number of times she’s seen them both in the same room for longer than a few minutes at a time since they got back from Scala Ad Caelum. They’ve all been so busy. Between helping to look into the Dark World situation and dealing with Xigbar’s sudden reappearance and any number of other “important” and “dangerous” things that keep cropping up on a daily basis, it’s hard to catch time with _anyone_ unless it’s mission related.

Their work is never done.

Riku hums, lashes fluttering around eyes that have suddenly gone unfocused and distant, staring off at some middle distance they can’t see. Aqua’s breath hitches as a strange swell of magic curls around them, pressure building in her chest like a balloon being over filled with warm water, the taste of something old, something _ancient_ , heavy on her tongue. Even Terra, the least sensitive to magic, tenses beside her, eyes wide as dinner plates. And just as quickly as the feeling came on, it rolls away on a wave. Riku blinks and smiles again, seemingly oblivious. “He’s in Twilight Town right now, but he’ll be by soon. There’s some research I need to do for a mission, and he wants to keep me company since he’s free.”

“Oh,” Aqua says, breathless, mind whirling.

“Um, that’s good,” Terra says.

Riku looks at them for a moment, head tilted. “Are you guys okay?”

“Yes, yes. Of course.” Aqua forces a laugh. It’s stuttered and choked and catches on the way out. “Let us know if you need any help navigating the library.”

Riku’s smirk is playful, but she recognizes the worry pinching between his brows, the feeling crowding high up in her own throat. “Thanks, but I think after everything, I could probably find what I need with my eyes closed.” And he’s probably right. Of all of them, in that miserable year, he spent the most time digging through the libraries across the worlds, looking for any little shred of hope that could point them to Sora. She wouldn’t be surprised if he knew it better than her, in some ways, and the Land of Departure’s library has always been one of her favorite places. Her go to when she needed to sulk or get away from everyone, everything.

“Still.” She pastes on what is supposed to be a reassuring smile. From his expression, she doesn’t get it quite right, but close enough. “We’re here to help.”

He softens. “Thanks, I appreciate it,” he says, and with one last, lingering look over his shoulder, he saunters away.

She focuses on breathing, in, out, in, out, shakes off the weird shiver that threatens to crawl up her spine. “Should we say something?” she asks, hushed. “Should we _tell_ someone?”

But what they would even tell, she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know where to _start._ She just knows what Riku just did, what she just _felt_ —it wasn’t normal. It wasn’t _natural_. She’s never felt anything like it before, and that scares her.

“I don’t know,” Terra says, equally quiet. “Do you think _he’s_ aware of it?”

“I don’t know. I can’t imagine he wouldn’t know. This is Riku we’re talking about, after all.” There’s a headache throbbing behind her left eye, and she blinks hard against it.

“Maybe we should just keep an eye on him for now, get more information. After what happened last time,” with them, with Master Eraqus and Master Xehanort, with all the wrongful assumptions, with all the misunderstandings to the detriment of _everything_ , “maybe it would be smarter to just be there for him, for now.”

“Yes.” She nods, decisively. They’re his friends. This, at least, they can do. And no matter what, she trusts him, trusts _in_ him. She won’t let the past repeat itself. “Okay.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day early! I actually wrote this one first, of the six. It's one of my favorites! :)

3\. Roxas

“Where the hell did it go?” Roxas grumbles to himself, glaring at the seemingly unending curl of stairs stretching out above him.

If there’s one thing he hates about the Mysterious Tower—and there’s a lot he hates about it if he’s being honest—it’s the way the entire Godsdamned place rearranges itself at the drop of a hat. Whether he leaves for an hour or a week or a month, it’s never the same when he returns. Good for keeping unwanted intruders from navigating the place, terrible for Roxas if he wants to get _anywhere_. He just wants to find the damn kitchen, not the secret magic room of super special secrets or whatever.

Maybe it’s _because_ he hates it that the Tower subjects him to this. Axel never complains about this happening to him when he’s here, and Roxas would know. He’s Axel’s favorite person to complain to.

(Admittedly, he’s also just one of Axel’s favorite people, and he doesn’t mind listening. Axel has a way of spinning dull, insignificant things into brilliant, fantastical events that usually leaves the both of them gasping in laughter.

It all works out pretty well for them.

Probably helps that Axel’s one of his favorite people too.)

He wouldn’t be surprised though. This Tower has had it out for him since day fucking one. Everyone else had found Yen Sid’s study easily enough, after Xehanort and everything that entailed, but Roxas had wandered around for almost an entire _hour_ before he’d found it. To this day, he still doesn’t know how he got cut off from everyone else. Nor can he explain how the entire ordeal was an hour for him, but only five minutes for his friends.

Time doesn’t seem to function the same in this place either. Because of course not.

Agh.

Feeling more than a little frustrated, Roxas goes through the first door—blue and purple and glittery with stars—to appear off the staircase he’s been trudging up for who knows how long.

He ends up in a dimly lit corridor.

The walls are dull and gray and empty, sapped of color. There are no windows or doors, and the hall winds out into a sharp curve he can’t see ahead of. It’s almost ominously quiet, the silence a ringing bell in his ears. Eerie like only a liminal space can be. Like the Castle that Never Was or the mansion in Twilight Town before they claimed it for themselves.

There’s no way the kitchen is on the other side of this thing.

He has half a mind to turn around, but when he looks back, the door has disappeared.

“Well, that’s not good.” His heart starts pounding a little faster—it’s been over a year, and it’s still so strange to feel, that he has a heart of his own that beats and reacts like everyone else.

He takes a step forward, the scuff of his shoe echoing strangely.

“Hm.” This is starting to remind him of those horror movies Hayner likes to pick when it’s his turn on their movie nights. The ones where the idiot teenagers ignore all the warning signs and walk straight into the jaws of gruesome, bloody death. Roxas is decidedly _not_ an idiot teenager—he’d have to be human, for one thing, and while he has a heart, he’s still very much a Nobody—but he _does_ know better than to go around trashing the Tower to get out.

The Tower might take every opportunity to get him lost, but he’s pretty sure it’ll try and actually kill him if he did that.

Looks like the only way from here is forward.

Grudgingly, he marches on.

The corridor twists and turns, the floor curving up into strange hills and sloping down into dips before straightening out again. It branches off into forks at random points, and rather than get hung up on the details, he takes the right one every time. No point worrying or stressing out. If he has to stop and take a couple deep breathes, that’s nobody’s business but his own (pun intended—Gods, where the hell is Axel when he needs him).

He rounds another bend, teeth grinding—this has to come to an end sometime, come _on_ —only to stumble to an abrupt stop.

Because there, huddled close in the hollow of an alcove, is Sora and Riku.

They’re bundled into each other’s arms, foreheads pressed together, their eyes closed. They’re talking to each other, soft and musical and completely incomprehensible to him. Roxas means to say something justifiably sarcastic and teasing—these two have always been sappy and codependent, even _before_ they’d come back from Gods knows where; he remembers how Sora fell to his knees and cried when he finally found Riku in the Castle that Never Was, the way the sun on the Island in his heart shined brighter, and that’s not even getting started on Riku’s unshakable faith in Sora—but this is taking it to a whole new level.

Except—except, something’s not _right_ about how they look.

Something a little too far to the left. Unreal and alarming. Static buzzes in his ears, his heart a trampling thump in his chest that he can feel all the way down to his toes.

They’re unnaturally still, frozen, like someone cast a Stop and left them here in this deserted, dismal hallway. The light surrounding them is brighter somehow, reflecting back cold and sharp and biting. The shadows dark and gleaming, thick, an abyss you could fall into if you’re not careful, if you look too closely. Everything seems to impossibly _bend_ around them, light and dark and all the shades in between. Their edges blurry and indistinct, their center so vivid and clear it hurts to even look at—

Goosebumps break out across Roxas’s arms, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

Without even realizing it, he takes a step back—

And as one, they move, their eyes flashing open to focus on him—bright—too _bright_ —Roxas stumbles back with a shout, blinded.

“Roxas!”

He instinctively crouches low, palms grinding into the wet hollows of his eyes. There isn’t any pain, not really, but there _are_ fireworks bursting across the blank scape of his eyelids that just won’t go away. Hands start frantically pawing at his face, and he relaxes into them despite everything in him hissing not to—these hands may be Sora’s, but _that wasn’t Sora_ —but it was, it _is_.

He’d know his Somebody anywhere.

“Are you okay, Roxas?” Sora’s hands come up to cradle Roxas’s cheeks, thumbs fitting along the tense line of Roxas’s palms. “Here, lemme see.”

He lets Sora pry his hands away, squinting against the light clouding his vision, tears streaming down his face. There are rocks in his throat. He painfully swallows around them, breath hitching. “Sora—Sora, I can’t _see_ —”

And then warmth, the sun in springtime, soft and gentle. It almost feels like a Cure, for all that it really, _really_ isn’t.

His vision clears. He blinks away the lingering spots, wipes at his cheeks, and there’s Sora, frowning and concerned and looking entirely _too_ normal—

He glances beyond him to where Riku is hovering close by, but not too close, eyebrows raised. There’s not a trace of whatever the fuck Roxas just saw.

“Okay?”

Roxas pulls back and stands, wary. “Yeah.” He looks between them, gaze darting to Riku then Sora and back, again and again. But it’s like nothing had even happened. Their faces give nothing away.

A shiver flits up his spine.

“Are you sure?” Sora asks, that worried crinkle forming between his eyebrows.

He sighs, lets it go for now, and waves a flippant hand. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine, Sora. Don’t worry about it. I was just looking for the kitchen—”

“Oh!” Sora immediately lights up, but this, at least, is familiar. “Oh, it _is_ dinnertime, isn’t it?” He looks back at Riku, grinning. “Let’s go make curry!”

Riku’s expression softens into fond exasperation—agh, they’re so sappy—and tangles his fingers with Sora’s when the brunet reaches for him. “Do you even know how to make curry?”

“No,” Sora says cheerfully. He grabs Roxas by the arm and drags him and Riku to a door that was _definitely_ not there two seconds ago. In fact, the entire _hallway_ looks different than before. The walls are no longer gray, and there are fucking _windows._ What the fuck is going on, Gods— “But I’m sure I can figure it out!”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This and the Roxas one share second place for my favorite of the ones I've written :D

2\. Lea

“I’m telling you, Axel, it was the weirdest fucking thing,” Roxas says for the second time that week, apropos nothing, hand gesticulating around. “Something’s going on with them. There’s something… different about them.”

Lea huffs and catches the wayward hand before it can accidently—or maybe intentionally? Never can know with the blonde—slap him in the face. It wouldn’t hurt, but it’s the principle of the thing. “I know. You’ve said.”

Roxas’s gaze flashes, narrowing on him, his chin digging into Lea’s chest. “You don’t believe me.”

“Hey, now. I never said that.” He stretches, careful not to dislodge Roxas or let go of the hand he’s holding captive, settling further into the couch he’d been napping on until Roxas had barged in and flopped on top of him without any prior warning. He closes his eyes with a hum, tired.

He can’t say he has the best memories of Twilight Town’s abandoned mansion—even if his only experience had been the digital recreation, even if he wasn’t the same, er, person—but he’s glad their little band of misfit toys appropriated it and kit it out like the world’s greatest hang out spot. And it totally is the greatest. His favorite place, besides the glaringly unsafe ledge atop the Clock Tower, is the atrium situated smack dab in the center of the mansion. It gets the most sun and is a fantastic place to nap—when _someone_ isn’t making that difficult anyways—hands down.

Way better than that Usual Spot or whatever the fuck they called it. Why have a small corner of an alley when you can have a mansion? No comparison.

Roxas gently taps at the skin between his eyebrows until he looks at him again, expression flat. “Axel.”

“Agh, what?” he whines. “I’m tired. Why won’t you let me sleep, brat? Go bother Xion instead.”

Roxas rolls his eyes. “Aren’t you concerned at all? They’re our friends, and this was some weird shit.”

With a groan, Lea flips them over so he can squish Roxas beneath him. Maybe he can crush him into submission…

“Agh, Axel!” Roxas grunts, sounding ever so put-upon and decidedly _not crushed into submission_ , but he bears Lea’s weight easily enough. Doesn’t push him off or flip him over the back of the couch or anything. Just accepts his fate with a little sigh as he wraps his arms around him, a hand cupping the back of his neck. He squeezes. Lea rumbles happily somewhere deep in his chest, melting. “You’re like a giant, dumb cat,” Roxas says offhandedly.

Lea snarls playfully, nuzzling into the skin of Roxas’s neck until he laughs, sudden and bright and surprised, and slaps at him. It devolves into a little half-hearted rough housing, Roxas tugging at his hair while he nips at the seam of his shirt, before settling into a content sort of silence, the kind even Lea knows better than to break. He savors the way they breathe together, their hearts beating in their chests as if in answer to the other. It’s something he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to.

It’s been two years.

“Okay, okay. Let’s say there _is_ some weird shit going on,” Lea finally says, propping himself up on an elbow. He takes the opportunity to press a little smacking kiss on the sharp cut of Roxas’s jaw before he continues just because he can, because he’s nothing if not an opportunist and Roxas’s cute face is _right there_. “How is that any different than normal? Weird shit follows those two like it’s got a personal vendetta against them. Hell, everything about our lives is weird.”

Roxas frowns at him. “This was weirder.”

“Weirder than you looking like Ventus because he was sharing Sora’s heart when Sora decided to stab himself?”

“Hm.”

“Which, you know, it kind of makes you wonder—what would you have looked like if Ventus _hadn’t_ been sharing Sora’s heart?”

Roxas eyeballs him, mouth twisted like he’s sucking on a lemon. “Is that really something you actually think about?”

Lea shrugs. “Not, like, actively. But it’s crossed my mind.” Smirking, he wiggles his eyebrows and says, “Maybe you’d look like Vanitas.”

“Agh, gross. No.”

“Okay, but seriously. How weird are we talking?”

“Xehanort time traveling levels of weird.”

He hums. “They’ve been back for what, a month, right? Has anything else happened? I sure haven’t noticed anything, and I am a master of noticing _everything_. I was a spy, if you remember.”

“You’re definitely a master of something…” Roxas trails off, smirking. It falls right off his face in the next breath though, collapsing into something small and quiet and much too serious. “I’m just worried.”

We only just got Sora back, he doesn’t need to say, but Lea hears anyways. He’s been back for only a month. What if this is something that takes him away again?

I’m scared, he doesn’t say, for him, for _them_ , for _me_. But Lea knows him, and he knows how he thinks.

(And see, Lea will never understand the bond Roxas has with Sora. He’s only ever been Lea or Axel or Lea again, and neither of them have ever existed simultaneously. Axel doesn’t live on in his heart. If he was, Lea’s pretty sure the guy would have shown up by now, chakrams blazing. Either way, he can’t communicate with him the way Roxas and Sora did, and he’ll never know him the way Sora and Roxas know each other.

If there’s one thing he _does_ get though, it’s having people you feel undoubtedly connected to, people who have shaped you, who have been shaped _by_ you.

He doesn’t need to look too far outside himself to know this kind of fear.)

“It’s okay to worry, but I wouldn’t get too hung up on it just yet. It’s been, what? A week since it happened?”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right.”

Roxas huffs in disbelief, but he starts running his fingers through the soft spikes at the base of his neck, gentle even around the tangles, so he figures it’s safe to nap again.

Of course, as Lea’s luck is want to do, that’s when a Godsdamned explosion rocks through the entire mansion. The glass doors shatter on a shockwave.

Lea jolts to his feet, ears ringing, teeth rattling in his skull. “The fuck was that?”

“I don’t know.” He shoots Lea a somber, knowing look. “But it came from close by.”

“The library.”

They sprint out into the foyer, feet crunching over broken glass. They bypass the stairs entirely in a single bound, and Lea nearly bowls Xion right over in the process.

“Woah!”

“What the fuck was that?” Xion demands without missing a beat, frowning. Beside her, Naminé doesn’t look nearly as concerned. Lea raises an eyebrow, but all the blonde does is smile, small and secretive, and shrug.

“There’s only one way to find out,” Naimé says, and Roxas throws the doors open.

Inside is verifiable chaos. Parts of the reconstructed floor have been scorched to bits, smoke billowing up in uneven plumes. The furniture is beyond salvageable. One of the chairs is literally _on fire._ The table is split into pieces. Books in all shades of destruction lie in sad heaps around the room among broken plaster and glass, torn pages fluttering in the breeze blowing in from the broken windows.

And in the middle of all the chaos, like every cliché Lea has ever known, is Sora and Riku.

They’re crouched halfway behind the splintered remains of the table—the table Lea picked out, damn it, he was fond of that table, for all that he only ever stepped foot in here to bother Roxas or Isa or Naminé—completely oblivious to their speechless gawking audience, looking more than a little ruffled but suspiciously untouched by the destruction.

“Riku, help me with this table leg.”

“I’m pretty sure the table can’t be fixed, Sora.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Of course it can be fixed.” There’s a snapping noise.

“…Right.”

“Okay, you’re right.” Sora tosses the leg behind him with a sigh. It clatters obnoxiously clear across the room. Lea watches it spin to a stop in a corner. A very crumbly, sad corner. The poor wall. Naminé will have to repaint the mural she made for this room, not that she’ll probably mind. She works over her stuff all the time. He looks back just in time to see Sora grin wickedly and raise his eyebrows. “But, at the very least, we know better than to do _that_ just yet—”

“Just what the hell is going on around here?” Lea finally bursts out. Perfectly, disgustingly in-sync, the two startle, heads whipping at neck breaking speed to face them. Lea’s neck twinges in sympathy.

Riku’s face immediately pales before flushing so red, Lea’s almost worried he might die from the sudden blood rush. He drops his burning face into his hands with a groan. “Ah, fuck.”

Sora jumps to his feet with a bashful laugh, brushing a hand through his hair and casually straightening out his clothes like, what, like they wouldn’t notice how thoroughly debauched he looked? What with his jacket suspiciously missing, the strap of his tank top stretched out and hanging loose over one shoulder, the red marks marching up the curve of his neck? And that’s not even getting into how _Riku_ looks, the poor guy. He has such pale skin…

Does he take Lea for an idiot or something? Gods.

“Are you guys okay?” Naminé, who has always had a better head on her shoulders than everyone else, asks, though it’s clear she’s fighting back laughter.

“It looks like a Firaga blew up in here,” Xion mutters.

“You’re right, that’s exactly what happened,” Sora says cheerfully, not even trying to hide just how blatantly he’s lying his ass off. He pets at the sides of Riku’s face until he finally surfaces from his hands, expression pained like he’s reliving this stroke of comedic embarrassment in his head on repeat. Lea knows _he’ll_ be laughing about it once he has a chance to actually process _just what the fuck happened._ “Sorry about that. Don’t worry though, we’ll fix it.”

“You will?” Roxas raises an eyebrow. He takes a pointed look around the room and all the destruction.

“Yep,” Sora says, drawing the word out and popping the “p” all obnoxious like.

“When the hell will you have time for that?”

“Right now, obviously.” Sora offers a hand to Riku, wiggling his fingers when all Riku does is stare despondently at it. “Just gotta go get some supplies, right Riku?”

“Yeah,” Riku says on a sigh and caves to Sora’s whims like the mushy love-sick fool he is, accepting the hand and smiling helplessly when Sora grins up at him. Gods, they’re disgusting.

“We shall return!” And without even a goodbye, they scurry out passed them, their hands knotted between them.

The four of them stand in silence after, starring at the doorway as if the two Keyblade wielders will reappear any second now.

Lea, with all the levity of twelve armored Xehanorts bent on destroying them, turns and puts his hand on Roxas’s shoulder, looks him directly into those beautiful blue eyes of his. He squeezes. “You were right.”

“I told you!”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost forgot about this omg! I experimented with some spacing for this one because otherwise I was going to use tons of parentheses and I decided not to ruin your guys' day with that lol
> 
> Hope everyone is staying safe!

1\. Kairi

Time at the Mysterious Tower, she’s found, is ever-changing.

It rushes by you one second and stretches agonizingly slow in the next. You can never trust the clocks in this place because every face displays a different time. You can’t even trust whether it’s day or night, the stars always bright and visible overhead. Some days last, well, _days_ and some nights barely exist at all. Depends on where in the Lanes Between Master Yen Side has decided to settle the world, which worlds the Tower coexists with, er, sort of. It also has everything to do with magic.

When you have insomnia, though, it doesn’t matter how time moves.

Everything always drags on and on and _on._

“Oh.” Kairi blinks tired eyes up at the sky, watching another star shoot across the oil slick scape of the Lanes Between, and can barely dreg up more than a brief appreciation of the sight. The constellations remind her of those she’s seen from El Dorado, though they’re just a little bit off because of the Mysterious Tower’s positioning. They must be close by that world.

She twiddles her fingers where they’re clasped on her stomach, restless, and tries to get more comfortable against the warmed tile of the roof.

It had been a childish hope, one borne from memories of camping out on the Play Island with Sora and Riku as kids, how they’d stay up late but always inevitably succumb to the lull of waves and sun-warmed sand. But she’d thought—even if she doesn’t have the waves, even if she doesn’t have Sora and Riku sleeping right next to her, in the face of everything saying otherwise—the warmth underneath her, the open sky above her, would be enough.

Tomorrow’s the Tournament, after all.

Or should she say today?

If she wants any chance of being a contender, she needs all the rest she can get. She’s years behind everyone in combat experience, even Lea, who at least has his years as Axel to rely on if all else fails. _She_ just has her training with Merlin and Lea, her two fights against Xehanort, and the training she just started under Master Aqau. Practical experience is good, but it’s only really been a month—she still has such a long way to go—

She’s falling further and further behind, made worse by her eight month stint of sleep.

Not that it even helped in the end. She's not even sure why she thought it would to begin with, except—

—that’s a lie. She _knew_ it probably wouldn’t help, but she did it anyways. Argued it was their best lead, a good starting point. But more than that, she knows what she’d actually been hoping for, all along, no matter how she liked to dress it up, even to herself—

And it wasn’t finding Sora.

He was drifting away from her.

It had been little by little, at first, before the Islands fell to Darkness, before they’d even started on the raft (a raft they didn’t even need when they already had boats, idiot boys and their so called sense of adventure)—he’d always be more interested in racing Riku, sword fighting with Riku, chasing after Riku—Riku, Riku, Riku. She was his friend too, though, wasn’t she?

Wasn’t she important to him too?

It started feeling a lot like when she first came to the Islands, when she was some refugee from another world, a person of interest but an outsider to the universe they’d built together memory by memory, just the two of them. Except unlike the first time, she wasn’t exactly welcome inside it anymore, no matter how haphazard and warped their universe had become from Sora’s obliviousness and Riku’s arrogance.

It was becoming clearer and clearer to her everyday how far behind she was falling. How she wasn’t really as needed as she thought she was, as she’d hoped she’d be.

“Let’s take the raft and go—just the two of us,” she said in a spontaneous moment of desperation—because couldn’t Sora _see_ the way Riku’s changed? How he’s become so much harder, so much crueler and cold than the soft boy he used to be, the one who’d been the first to hold out his hand and open their universe to her? How he was the first to shut her out. That maybe Riku’s finally changed too much, enough that Sora finally, _finally_ took his eyes off his back long enough to see that she’s there too, stumbling behind them, that the boys were rushing too far, too fast for her to keep up.

But he hadn’t, and she deflected with a fake laugh, “Just kidding.”

How could she compete with someone who had clearly won Sora’s heart before she’d even arrived?

(But then, Sora had come to save her, not once, but twice. He _died_ to save her, and that had to mean _something_ , didn’t it?

And she’d thought maybe, maybe their connection would be enough to find him in the gray abyss beyond. And that, in finding Sora through her, it would be undeniable irrefutable proof of her importance to him—over friendship, over Riku, over _everything_ —

It wasn’t enough. _She_ wasn’t enough.

And she never would be.)

She knows better now, that it has nothing to do with being enough or not. It's something that just _is_. Like the stars, like worlds, like Light and Darkness. It’s something she’s come to accept since the boys came back and she’d been woken from her sleep. Just because she’s not occupying Sora’s every thought the way Riku does, it doesn’t mean Sora cares any less for her, for their friendship. She’s in his heart, the same way he’s in hers. It’ll just always be in a way that’s different to Riku.

She can’t say she’s not a little bitter. It’s childish, and she knows it, but it’s also a feeling that dwindles every day. They’ve all grown so much, changed for the better, and she has more than Sora and Riku to rely on now, people who are her friends, who she’s laughed with, who she’s cried with. People who care about her. People she’s closer to even, in some ways. Her boys will always hold a special place in her heart—her first friends, as far as she’s concerned—but it’s nice that she has a world beyond them now too.

And besides, who is she to come between true love?

(She’s always been a bit of a romantic.)

It’s all thanks to those months she spent comatose that she’s even in this mess to begin with though, and man, doesn’t that just smart.

Fuck.

She has no idea how Sora dealt with this little side-effect. He spent an entire year asleep while his memories were reconstructed and seemed to just brush it off and bounce back like it was nothing. Of course, it’s entirely possible he just never shared that with her. She wouldn’t be surprised. She doubts he would have even told Riku if there was a problem.

Her idiot boys.

She should probably get them up soon so Sora has time to cook them all breakfast. He’d mentioned something about ‘good luck’ pancakes before he and Riku turned in last night, and while they won’t help with how dead tired she is, she knows they’ll be delicious. Who would have known that, of the three of them, it’d be _Sora_ who’d be the decent cook? She and Riku are barely even equipped to boil water, let alone some of the weird complex dishes Sora likes to make.

Maybe she should apprentice under Little Chef too. Impress all the cute boys and girls with her cooking the way Sora impresses Riku with his—maybe get someone to look at her the way they look each other.

(—like you’re their sun, their home, their heart, like you’re worth believing in, worth any cost, every consequence, _everything_ , like nothing else matters, like the worlds live and die in your eyes, in your smile—)

Kairi shook her head and pushed herself up until her legs dangled over the edge of the roof, kicking her heels against the brick. She squints against the creeping bright of dawn.

As it is now, she probably won’t be impressing anyone.

(But like hell she’s going to just give up.)

With a sigh, she drops down the six stories to the ground and brushes off the back of her skirt, trying to muster more than a modicum of excitement. It’s Tournament Day! Time to test her mettle against some of the strongest people she’s fortunate to even know. To stand in an arena of giants, not quite ready, but maybe like she belongs in her own right too. She was a Princess of Heart, once upon a time, after all. She might not come out of this the victor, but she won’t make it easy for them to get her out either.

She’s got some tricks up her sleeve too, Godsdamn it.

The trek up to Sora and Riku’s room is quick, the stairway eagerly rearranging itself to speed up her trip. She doesn’t understand Roxas’s grief with the Tower. It’s always nice to her.

Just outside their door, all blues and purples and flickering stars, she pauses to pet the wall, smiling warmly. “Thank you.” She knocks, not because she wants or needs to, but because if she didn’t, she might get an eyeful she isn’t particularly inclined to get.

(Not to say they aren’t beautiful together, but she also doesn’t need to see them like that.)

No answer.

She knocks again. “Hello?”

Nothing.

She huffs and tentatively jiggles the doorknob. Unlocked.

“Hm.” There are so many different ways she could go about waking them up. She could go with the classic, creepy hovering—Sora’s always had a sixth sense for it and his jolting will surely scare the shit out of Riku too. Maybe one of them will even fall out of bed. Two birds, one stone. Or, she could just flop on top of them. She might not be heavy, muscle heads like them, but she’s been working to tone back up from her eight month sleep, so she’s no feather. Maybe she should just be nice and wake them nicely, with gentle hands, a gentle voice.

Nah.

Decided, Kairi pushes open the door, poised to sprint the second she’s got clearance—and pulls up short.

The room is unnaturally dark, dense and heavy, like even the air has been sucked right out of it. She can’t see a thing beyond the doorjamb, the light from the stairwell unable to penetrate through the abyss. The room seems to drop right out of existence past the doorway, expanding out, vast and endless. She blinks, and little orbs of light, golden and bright like tiny, gasping suns, flicker into existence. Not even their pulsing light seems to cut through the surrounding darkness, struggling to illuminate nothing.

It’s too still. Silent as a grave.

If she took a step inside, would she just fall?

(The strange sense of familiarity rings, high and loud, in the back of her head.)

She swallows thickly. “Oh,” she croaks, eyes wide. “What have you boys gotten into this time?”

Kairi carefully closes the door, fingers tight around the doorknob, knuckles white. Her heart thumps painfully in her chest. Should she get Master Yen Sid? King Mickey? Master Aqua?

A sudden loud noise, a pop and hiss like a burst balloon if that balloon were the size of a building, startles her. She frantically yanks the door back open.

“Kairi?” Riku slurs, looking soft and rumpled and squinting against the bright light. He slowly sits up, Sora a snoring lump sprawled across his lap, bundled in the blankets, face pressed into Riku’s stomach.

“Riku?” she whispers.

“Hm?”

Instead of answering, she picks across the cluttered floor—careful not to step on the random Ether, the various clothes tossed aside, the odd Gaia Bangle or Power Chain (she doesn’t know how Riku deals with it)—to get to the bed situated against the far wall. She stands in front of them a moment, hands clenched into fists.

Riku pauses in rubbing at his eye with the hand not tangled in Sora’s hair, eyebrows bunched in concern. “Kairi?”

Mouth pinched, chest tight, she crawls onto the bed with them and settles in close to Sora until she can cushion her head on Riku’s lap too. Their bed smells like the ocean and ozone, tingly like magic almost. It’s soft and sleep-warm, Sora a burning line against her chilled skin.

A strong hand cups the crown of her head, gentle and tentative, a comforting, familiar weight. “Is everything okay?” Riku asks, hushed.

She clenches a fist in the linen and buries her face into the spikes at the back of Sora’s head, counts his steady, deep breathes as he sleeps. He’s always been such a heavy sleeper, creepy sixth sense notwithstanding… Maybe she imagined the dark abyss. Maybe she hallucinated it. She’s so tired. She hasn’t slept well, or at all, for so long—Cures and Potions only do so much, and they don’t help her sleep. Not even Sleep keeps her down for long, and it’s not healthy to use it every night.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She shakes her head again, closes her sore eyes tightly against the frustrated tears building hot and stinging. Her sinuses burn with the effort, but she refuses to cry, not over this.

“Want to stay here a little while? We still have time before we really need to be up.”

“Okay,” she says, voice small, and hopes Riku can’t tell how close she is to losing it.

Whether he does or he doesn’t, she can’t tell. He just settles more comfortably against the headboard and combs his fingers through her hair with his free hand until her mind’s gone fuzzy and slow.

“Rest,” he rumbles, and she does.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright y'all this is it, holy shit! I can't believe we made it this far lol 
> 
> Not only was this the easiest chapter to write, but it's also my favorite of the 6. It was a lot of fun exploring Vanitas's character and various headcanons I have, and there's just something about Vanitas in general, man. I love him <3
> 
> In case anyone wants to know, I am already working on the FINAL (yes, you heard that right, and I am being completely serious this time lol) piece of the series. I'm not sure when that will be out, but I already know what's going to happen, it's just all about dumping it into a doc and making it pretty, so keep a vague eye out for that!
> 
> Last but not least, thank you all for your kudos and comments! You're all amazing <3
> 
> Enjoy!

+1. Vanitas

“Gods, they’re fucking idiots,” Vanitas says as another explosion rocks the _entire open scape_ of the Great Maw. There’s a crack of ignition and then a giant wall of flames flares past them, roaring and blazing and biting against the exposed skin of his face and arms, though he refuses to budge an inch. “Don’t they know better than to go all out like this?”

“It looks like they’re having fun,” Ventus says, and they do. Sora’s laughing freely, bright and brilliant and shining, Riku his quicksilver shadow, the second star in his binary system, the two of them orbiting around each other even as they exchange blows of metal and magic and words. It reminds Vanitas, violently, of _before._

His breath stutters in his lungs.

“Hey.”

He tears his eyes from the fight and forces himself to relax again. There’s a question in Ventus’s face, a wrinkle in the skin between his eyebrows that he wants to smooth away with his thumb, but instead he just says, “Ah, fuck off,” soft and gruff.

Ventus snorts and pushes at the closest of Vanitas’s crossed arms, but Vanitas isn’t deceived by the gesture. He is wise to the blonde’s ways—not only the ones they share by virtue of having once been the same person, but also the ones that have developed over their time apart. Ventus isn’t all that subtle, is the least conniving, wears his heart stupidly on his sleeve despite the fact they regularly fight monsters that eat hearts. Idiot.

But Vanitas doesn’t bother trying to stop him from idly hooking his hand in the bend of his elbow, the backs of their fingers lining up perfectly. It’s a simple touch, a flimsy connection. He could break it easily enough, could break his entire hand if he wanted to. His arm, his stupid lovely face. Could rip open his ribcage to reach the fragile organs inside and run his fingers over the keys of his ribs, could hold his throbbing heart in his hands. Sometimes, when he’s feeling particularly volatile and angry and lost, he wishes he had it in him to do it. Knows he used to, remembers reveling in fantasies of blood and broken bones and merging them into one by physical force if necessary, preferably even.

But he doesn’t.

Not anymore.

Instead, he flexes his muscles, squishing their fingers together until Ventus grins at him before focusing back on the match, a look of awe on his face. If it serves to keep Ventus’s hand where it is, that’s nobody’s fucking business but his own.

They may have grown into their own, agh, people or whatever the fuck happened to them, but he always feels more… settled when they’re close, like his skin actually fits him properly instead of being stretched tight around the jut of his bones, the ropes of his muscles, and it’s better when they’re touching—shoulders brushing, fingers cupping his throat, a hand at his side, their knees knocking together.

“It’s because we’re soulmates,” Ventus said offhandedly one day, not even pausing in his research, his mouth moving silently with the words on the page because his attention span is non-existent when it comes to reading. Vanitas would read all day if he could, that and fight. It’s a difference he’d never thought to notice before, but with the both of them elbows deep in the library, it’s thrown into startling focus. His arm is a solid, restless line of heat against his and it burns, ridiculously, impossibly.

(It’d been almost six months since Vanitas woke up in the Land of Departure—angry and tired and _changed_ — and even with Vanitas’s reluctant help, they were still no closer to finding where that worthless fuck Sora was.

He wasn’t sure what everyone was expecting, considering the kind of shit the guy dabbled in just to save his friends.)

It was the last thing he’d been expecting to hear. Vanitas sputtered violently and nearly threw his book at his big, dumb head. Except for how he actually _liked_ this book, was interested in the synthesis theories and recipes, so he settled for snarling, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Unfazed, Ventus shrugged and didn’t even deign to look at him, the little _shit_. “It’s something I heard from Hercules—”

“And you believe that meathead?”

“I don’t _not_ believe him.” He rolled his eyes, fiddled with the book in his hands, turning a page then flipping it back. “On his world, it’s believed that humans were originally created with four arms, four legs, and a head with two faces. And Zeus—Herc’s dad—split them in half. That’s why people only have two arms and legs, only one face. And a lot of them spend their lives looking for their missing half.”

“We were never like that,” he bites out, but it’s weak. He’s smart. Even he, bitter and haphazardly sewn together, can see the parallels.

Ventus finally looked up, gaze settling green and intense on his, mouth a thin line. “We may not have had four arms, or whatever, but out heart got split same as them. We’re whole on our own now, but I don’t think our hearts could ever forget what it was like before. Not really.”

Vanitas stared at him for a beat, heart a loud and thumping answer in his throat, and looked away. “It’s bullshit,” he said, quietly, and pointedly started reading again.

“It’s okay,” Ventus whispered back when the silence had stretched too long. “I know. _We_ know. That’s all that matters.”

“Whose dumb idea was it to pair them up this early in the Tournament, anyways? I should beat the shit out of them.”

Ventus snorts. “You’ll probably get your chance if they don’t completely destroy everything.”

There’s a shout and the smell of ozone crackles in the air, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, so Vanitas huffs sullenly and finally moves a couple steps to the side, careful to push Ventus with him, just as thundering bolts of lightning strike down across the entire field.

“Wow,” Ventus breathes.

“Is that all you’ve got, Sora?” he hears Riku taunt, breathless. He spins Nightmare’s End and it _sparks_. He’s undeniably in his element, the earth around him crumbling helplessly under the pressure of his power.

“I’m just warming up!” Sora shouts back, Mirage Split a gleaming blur of color in his hands, beaming, wide and borderline manic, eyes a wild, blazing gold, his attention unwavering on Riku.

(By the Gods, he _hated_ him. Hated both of them.

Because unlike Ventus—who was blessed with all their light, their kindness, their patience (admittedly not much, but still), their looks, their _name_ , and best of all: their ignorance—it was Vanitas who was cursed to carry everything else. Their darkness, their fury, their sadness, their memories.

And he _remembers_.

Gods does he remember.

Master Ava and Daybreak Town and the Dandelions. Ephemer. Their parents, their sisters. Their _precious fucking rulers_ , remembers loving them blindly, happily, eager to hear everything about them, to know them somehow, to catch even a single glimpse of the Gods who carried their world so generously on their shoulders—

And he did, once.

In the market square, he saw them walking, and he remembers how even though they stopped to talk to anyone who came up to them, they only _really_ had eyes for each other. And he’d thought, naively, stupidly, how lucky they must be to have such kind and loving leaders. Had hoped, Gods, that someone, someday would look at him the way they looked at each other, like he was the only thing they needed, only thing they _wanted_ —not food or water or even air, just him.

There’s no way he could’ve known that it would be _them_ , them and their worthless, destructive, perfect love that would turn their entire world to smoldering ashes. Remembers the pain and _betrayal_ , the chaos and death—the sting of weeping blisters on his hands, the heaviness of smoke clogging his lungs, the way the tang of blood hung heavy in the air for days and days before their world shattered into a million brilliant, broken pieces.

He remembers after, waking up on the dusty rock of the Graveyard, sore and empty and listless. It wasn’t until later that he realized _years_ had passed somehow, hundreds of them, until he wandered into Master Xehanort. How he found new purpose under the crazy old man, that is, until he split him in two in his quest to replicate the power of the same forgotten Gods that had _ruined his life in the first place_ —

And now, here they were again, like the past was repeating itself, and who knows what sort of destruction will be wrought from it? He’d already lost one world, already suffered _so much_ , how much more is he expected to take?

Fuck, he _hated_ them.)

(When he caught sight of himself in a mirror for the first time, when he was only Vanitas and half of what he’d once been, he realized it was more than the memories he’d been cursed with.

He’d torn welts into his face with ragged fingernails, screaming and bleeding red, red, red, red like anger, like the spongey flesh of a beating heart, like the agonizing pit that howled in his chest that gave life to his Unversed.

He rarely took his helmet off, after that.)

“I’ll never forgive you,” he said darkly, fists clenched at his sides. Tried not to let his nerve fail him, tried not to let the memories overwhelm him. He was sick of this. He might have helped find him, find them, they might even need their help, but as far as he’s concerned? Sora and Riku could have stayed at Scala Ad Caelum, in the shattered, rotten bones of Daybreak Town, where they fucking well belonged. Forever. “I’ll never forgive _either_ of you.”

Sora blinked up at him for a moment—and wasn’t that strange, how small this larger than life being was, all things considered—unregistering, but then—his expression crumpled into something old and unbearably sad. “Oh.” He smiled, but it was a brittle, twisted thing. “I understand. I wouldn’t forgive us either.”

His breath whooshes out of him, his lungs collapsing. “Don’t—” he gasps, forces the rest of his words out through gritted teeth, “don’t just fucking agree with me!”

Sora looked away. “Well, what do you want me to do instead? I know what I’ve done, what we did.”

“I don’t know,” he said and hated how small his voice sounded, lost and scared. “I just want to forget. I don’t want to remember.”

“Oh, Vanitas.”

Vanitas was numb, his mind a shuddering mess of claws and teeth and darkness and pain—a place of monsters, one wrong step and it’d all be over—his heart a heaving beat. Didn’t realize Sora had reached for him, had captured his hand in both of his, until heat chased away the chill. It burned fiercely, aching and borderline painful, but then, in a previous life he’d been the God of life and light and destruction and everything in between—he’d be more surprised if it didn’t.

He’s surprised it didn’t hurt more.

“We can’t give you what you want. We’re undeserving of your forgiveness, but you have ours for your part with Xehanort all the same.” Sora’s grip on his hand tightened, the bones creaking under the force as he leveled a serious, stubborn, determined look at him. His eyes flared molten amber. “But this I can promise you: we’ll do everything in our power to prevent the past from repeating itself.”

“How can you be so sure?” he croaked out. “How can you even promise something like that?”

“Because,” Sora suddenly grinned, bright and assured and unmistakably beautiful, “this time around, we’ve got you.”

They blow up one of the Great Maw’s surrounding walls.

Smoke billows up from the cracked wound, the cliff leveled clean through to the other side where the earth naturally slopes back down around the bowl of the open field. It’s a good thing the other side had just been more rock and not the Godsdamned city, holy fuck.

“Wow,” Ventus whispers, eyes wide, the grip on Vanitas’s arm almost painful.

“Holy shit!”

“What the fuck just—”

“I _told_ you things have gotten weird, Leon!”

“Maybe they can teach _me_ that—”

Sora and Riku finally stumble over. Their hands a knotted tangle between them as they trip over debris, barely even sparing a glance for where they’re walking, eyes only on each other. And they’re laughing, guileless and free and happy. There’s barely even a scratch on them, the fuckers, just some smudges of dirt across Sora’s cheeks, some soot ground into the crevices of Riku’s elbows.

“Hey, guys!” Sora says, completely oblivious to the collective nervous breakdown their friends are two seconds away from having. Or, well, he can’t tell if he’s pretending to be oblivious, or if he just doesn’t care. Or, maybe he really just is that unaware. Vanitas wouldn’t put it past him, honestly. The brunette frowns and jostles Riku against his side, glaring petulantly up at Riku when he smirks back down at him. “Riku won, but I’m going to win next time,” he jabs Riku in the chest with his free hand, “so don’t go getting a big head, got it? You’re head’s already massive as it is.”

“Sure thing, Sora,” Riku says on an eye roll, “Maybe if you started winning, I wouldn’t have such a big head—”

“Hey, don’t you fucking start, mister—” but Vanitas knows it’s just a ruse, would recognize the warmth in their voices, the soft look in their eyes, the way they tighten their hands and bump shoulders affectionately even though they’re arguing—yeah, he’d recognize that anywhere.

It all kind of descends into chaos from there.

“What the hell, Sora?!”

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I want to fight you next!”

“Maybe you guys should calm down—”

“Don’t tell me what to do, _Master_ Riku!”

“What’s going on?!”

“That was so fucking cool!”

Everyone’s voices layer together into an annoying wall of squabbling and questions and surprise and concern, Riku and Sora in the center, all wide eyes and stuttering reassurance and confusion.

Idiots.

Vanitas catches the eye of that blonde witch where she’s standing just outside of the mess, hands clasped in front of her. Well, everyone except her. She doesn’t look all that surprised.

She’s even smiling.

“Gods, they never really change, do they?” Naminé asks, almost dreamily, distantly, almost like she already knows the answer or at least has a pretty good idea about it.

He narrows his eyes on her and snorts when all she does is blink up at him and smile wider. Maybe he’s not the only one with memories to spare—he’s pretty sure he’s heard stories about the kind of powers she wields. There’s a squeeze on his bicep as the weight of the Ventus’s full attention settles heavy and assessing on him. And Vanitas, just because he lives to taunt his other half, doesn’t bother looking at him even though he knows that Ventus knows that he knows.

Or whatever.

(It’s likely Ventus will never remember anything for himself, not really. He’ll likely only ever know the strange sense of déjà vu, the feeling that he’s forgotten something, that niggling worm at the back of his head. The mind might forget, but the heart never does—and for that, he strategically hounds Vanitas to fill in the gaps. To explain the hazy, unexplainable dreams he can never fully remember. He might not be conniving, but he sure as hell is determined. Stubborn, almost to the point of stupidity. Vanitas’ll give him that.

Not that he makes it easy for him, of course.)

(There are just some things he’ll never tell him, that he can never know. Never. Some things are meant to stay buried in the grave they fell into. Dead. Gone.

It’s for his own good.)

“Nah,” he scoffs, but he can’t help but lean into the warmth pressed into his side, the way he softens when Ventus adjusts to accommodate him, the way _he_ accommodates Ventus. It’s… nice. Something he’s still getting used to, something he wants to keep. Something… different. Maybe there’s a chance this won’t go to shit, after all. There’s the barest hint of a smile lurking in the corners of his mouth, but it’s no one’s fucking business but his own. “They’ve definitely gotten worse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading <3


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